‘I’m looking for Sophie Meers.’
‘Oh, lovely lady. Come this way.’
She leads me to the end of the corridor and takes a left and then a right. At the end of the hallway there’s a small lounge with big full-length windows and double doors that open out onto the garden area. Some of the chairs are taken with patients sitting peacefully on their own or with family and friends. At an initial glance around, I can’t see Sophie.
‘She must be in her room,’ says the nurse.
I follow her until she stops at room number seventeen. She knocks gently a couple of times and then opens the door. The irony of the door number doesn’t pass me by.
‘Sophie love, you’ve a visitor.’
I raise myself up on tiptoes to look over her shoulder. The room is a pleasant surprise. It’s a lot more personable than a normal hospital room. There’s accent wallpaper on one section of the wall opposite the bed, which is complemented by matching curtains, and a comfy looking high-backed chair to match the soothing green-and-brown colour scheme.
‘Sophie,’ the lady calls again. She walks over to the bed, but the small figure lying on top of the covers doesn’t move. ‘She’s sleeping.’ She picks up a blanket from the nearby chair and puts it softly over Sophie.
‘Could you give her this and tell her I stopped by?’ I ask.
‘Of course, love.’ She puts my parcel down on the dressing table and picks up a brown manilla A4 envelope. ‘Sophie said to give you this if she was asleep.’ She gives me a kind smile. ‘She’s been sleeping a lot.’
I take the envelope she’s offering. It hasEllie Pittenswritten in spidery handwriting on it and it’s thin and flimsy.
‘I’ll tell her you called. She’ll be sorry she missed you. I’ve heard all about you. I might even book onto one of your photography evenings myself.’
I give an embarrassed laugh and, clasping the envelope tight, walk back along the warren of corridors. Once outside, I sit down on the bench Reeni and I had sat on when Sophie had first come to visit. I turn the envelope over, it’s so light it can’t have much in it. I slip a finger under the flap and ease it open. I have no idea why Sophie would have anything to give me. There’s a single sheet of paper in it. I slide it out. It’s not paper. It’s an A4 photograph. My eyes sweep back and forth across it and emotion bubbles through my body. This is the photo I enlarged for Jackson. The one he hung in the camper van. Daisy with her shutter open and his white-and-orange trainers at her door. I put the envelope down and something falls out of it onto the floor. It’s a single rusted vintage-looking key. I open the envelope again to check to see if I’ve missed a note, but it’s empty.
I’ve got the photo in one hand and the rusty key in the other and my mind is racing with a million questions. Why have I got a picture of Daisy and a key? Do they go together? Has Sophie given me the key to Daisy? How does she have it and what am I supposed to do with it?
Curiosity gets the better of me as I roll the key around in my hand. I’m going to go and find out if it fits.
The beach huts are about a thirty-minute walk away. Theweather is beautiful and the beach busy, but I power on and manage to do the journey in just over twenty minutes. I stop dead when I see Jackson and Milo sitting on Daisy’s concrete veranda, chatting as they look out to sea. I half turn to go, but Milo’s voice rings out before I’ve taken a step.
‘Hey, Ellie.’ He stands and brushes the sand from his legs. He doesn’t look at all surprised to see me here. ‘Glad you came.’
Jackson looks up, caught off guard, and his expression clouds immediately. He stands too, his whole body rigid. ‘What’s going on?’ His eyes narrow as he glares at Milo.
‘If I’d have told you, you wouldn’t have come,’ he says simply. ‘You two need your heads banging together. Anyway, this isn’t down to me. It’s Mum.’
‘What’s down to Mum?’ growls Jackson. He sounds as uncomfortable as I feel.
‘She wanted you both here at the same time. She’s left something for you both in there.’ Milo nods towards Daisy.
I take a couple of steps closer to them. ‘Your mum gave me this.’ I hold up the rusty key. It’s coloured my hand a reddy orange. ‘Is this –’
Jackson nods. ‘For Daisy. Yeah.’
My eyes narrow to match his. ‘Why does your mum have a key for Daisy?’
Jackson shrugs and his cheeks flush a rosy pink.
‘Does it work?’
He motions towards the yellow door. ‘Try it.’
‘Are you going to give me any straight answers?’ I snap.
‘Christ, you two are a pair of toddlers. Open the door, Ellie,’ says an exasperated Milo.
I hesitate for a second and then think what the hell. Stepping up onto the concrete veranda, I wiggle the rusty key into the lock. I expect it to be difficult to turn, but the lock clicks with ease and the door swings open.
